


The Guest: Snow As It Falls

by twoscarypandas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One night. You, me, and your pretty little wife."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guest: Snow As It Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Guest: Snow As It Falls  
> Author: Panda N (Writing Solo)  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings: Smut, Infidelity, threesome  
> Pairings: SweDen, SweFin, SweDenFin, FinDen  
> Summary: “One night. You, me, and your pretty little wife.”  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters, or Anna Akhmatova’s gorgeous poetry. This poem was published in 1922, which means it is not subject to U.S. Copyright law.

_All’s as it was: the snowstorm’s_

_Fine flakes wet the window pane,_

_And I myself am not new-born,_

_But a man came to me today._

 

\--

 

The bed creaked under the weight of two where there should be one, and for a too long moment, Berwald wondered why they never went to a room with a larger surface. But then he stopped thinking about the details, his eyes transfixed on the man in his lap, his hands sliding rough and calloused up his body. They pulled up his shirt, yanking it from out of his pants and splitting buttons from their holes raggedly, with little care. There were kisses, but they were not pleasant. They were not loving. They held him to the bed as he squirmed, pinning him there in a parody of affection. He felt suffocated in a way that was purely nonphysical.

 

“Tell me you want this.” Mattias demanded, eyes wide and mad and blue, fingers pulling up his undershirt anyway. For a moment, Berwald’s stomach clenched. All he could hear was Matt’s breathing, rough and hysterical, like they’re fighting. “Tell me.”

 

He didn’t say a word, and it doesn’t seem to matter. Matt shifted and the sheets curled up, and all he could do was let out a muffled cry as he’s kissed again, a tongue jamming between his lips and halting his breath. Those hands traced the muscles of his chest, the scars that belonged in another life, almost affectionately reminding him of where they came from. He arched, not quite sure how he came to be turned on, but the minute he did he realized he was. His hardness pressed into Matt’s, grinding upward between his legs, and the man holding him down gave a hard groan.

 

“Fuck-!” Matt hissed against his tongue, before biting into his lower lip and pulling back to sit up straight, peering down at him like some highly amused cat on a perch above his playmate. “Good answer, Bernie Boy.” He murmured, tugging at his belt and pulling it open, but not out. They had no time for that.

 

It wasn’t long then before rough, gun-calloused fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed. His own hands moved then, flashing up to fist in Matt’s shirt, grasping his tie. He let out a sound that he didn’t want to hear when he saw his ring glinting against that red paisley. Matt only grinned wider, pulling his cock from his slacks and twisting it in rough, dry fingers. Growling low, he squirms, trying to—to—Gott, he doesn’t know what. Buck him off, maybe. But he only gripped him tighter and rocked his hips into the wave of Berwald’s body, like he was riding a bull.

 

“C’mon, Bern—look at you. You’re fuckin’ there already.” That wicked voice hissed in his ear. “I haven’t even got mine yet. Go on, come. Can’t fuckin’ hold back, can you, _bitch_? Can’t even _wait_ for me.”

 

He sucked in a breath and held it. Matt’s hand squeezed his cock like he was trying to twist it off his body, and his hips bucked, following every Goddamn twitch of those fingers. The edges of his vision began to fade. Protests came to mind, but quickly slipped away as that hand worked him off just to make him blow. Make him come for the Fucking King of Scandinavia. The damnable beast, the devil in his nightmares.

 

“Go on—Yeah, Bern—God, you’re such a dirty bitch, the way you moan.” Matt growled, his fist picking up the pace. Berwald closed his eyes, feeling everything _pull_ and knowing now is not the time to remember how much he wants this fucker _dead_. “Go on—Go on-!”

 

His hips bucked and he shattered, his vision greying around the edges and his hands fisting in that Goddamn tie. There it was. All over the bed and them, proof that his body can very easily betray his mind. And before he can contemplate that ugly matter, a wet, sticky hand wiped over his face and he smelled himself—tasted himself.

 

“Yeah…” Matt sighed, triumphant. “Taste that, Bernie Boy. That’s your cock, and it’s _mine_.”

 

His wedding ring still gleamed against that tie until the bastard shoved his hands to the bed and shifted to sit on his chest like the demonic mare of his people’s stories. His fly was already undone. He’d been there when this began. But now he pulled his cock out, swollen and heavy red with need, and let his other hand slide nice and slow through his hair.

 

“Your little man-cunt wife.” Matt hissed, dragging his nails over the curve of his scalp before he fists his fingers into it, dragging his head up. “He make you do this? He make you _work_ for your lies, make you suck his pretty cock so he can pretend you’re _his_?”

 

The cap of that cock jams its way between his lips, and he opens up, closing his eyes and breathing in one, two, three calming breaths. The hand in his hair drags him down on it, and he swallows, groaning softly and trying to pretend he didn’t.

 

It’s the first time Tino has crossed his mind in the last twenty minutes.

 

\--

 

_I asked: ‘What do you want?’_

_He said: ‘To be with you in hell.’_

_I laughed: ‘Ah, sadly,_

_No: Perhaps you wish me ill.’_

 

\--

 

He pulled his pants up, looking at the clock and trying to remember when Tino said he’d be home. Shopping. Planning. Usually he came home fifteen minutes after he said he’d be home. It was a blessing in disguise, particularly in moments like these.

 

“We’ve gotta find better excuses for this shit.” Matt sighed around his joint, blowing smoke out the window and watching the snow fall. He was standing by the window, pants undone, shirt undone, a caricature of a lover just done loving. He wasn’t looking at Bernie, but he waved his hand to the room, indicating… everything.

 

“No.” He said simply, gathering the bedding they’d stained. They would not be needing any more excuses, because today, just now, would be their last time. Last. Final. He does not want this anymore. It’s too risky and too stupid, and it would hurt Tino far too much. It needs to end here. Decided, he folds the mess over in his arms presses a hand to his face, skewing his glasses as he tries to wipe away… himself.

 

“Psh—He’ll find out if we don’t come up with something better—Jesus-!” He cursed softly as the window shuddered and slammed closed in the wind. Annoyed, he opened it again and tossed his joint out. “You want him to figure out you’ve been boning me since—”

 

“S’not gonna.” Berwald glared, throwing the bedding to the floor in a lump and reaching for a pillow. It would look strange to do the sheets and not the pillow cases, wouldn’t it? Fuck—his pants. He dropped the pillow for a second to zip his fly, buckle his belt.

 

“Dude, you’re dreaming. Tino’s no idiot. Eventually he’s gonna figure you out.” He smirked a little, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that apparently symbolized what little thought he had in his brain. “Unless you wanna start making house-calls.”

 

“M’not doin’ it anymore.” He finally growled, holding a pillow sack at both corners and shimmying the pillow out. “S’done.”

 

There was silence. Matt stared, looking utterly perplexed. “Done…?” He asked after a moment, as if the word was foreign to him. “Done, like… Like _we’re_ done? Oh—” He cut himself off, leaning in the window frame and laughing like there was some kind of spectacularly funny joke that Bernie just wasn’t getting yet. “Oh, that’s—Bern—Bernie, you’re funny.”

 

“M’serious.” He folded the pillow sack and placed it on top of the dirty bedding, reaching for the other. “No more.”

 

“ _Why_?” He asked, suddenly not laughing anymore. When he turned, he found him staring at him with intense, heavy aqua eyes that just dared him to give the wrong response. Everything about his stance had changed. He was tense, his shoulders rigid, one thumb tucked into the waist of his pants, hanging there in an attempt at false nonchalance.

 

“Tino.” Berwald replied softly, his thoughts sliding to his husband, heart cracking a little at what this was doing to them. Oh God… They’d been like this for so long, he and Matt, he’s not sure how they kept Tino in the dark. But his wife has never once suspected—not to his knowledge. And it tears at his heart to know that he is betraying the one he loves most, the one he wants to spend the rest of his days with, for this… _this_. This stupid creature who once ruled his life. _Why?_ He wasn’t even sure. They had… something, chemistry. A weird crackle of energy that came from years of pure agony swept under the rug.

 

Matt recoiled a little, looking half amused and half disgusted. “ _Oh_. Okay. I see. Wife over fife and all that shizz. Got it.” He looked out the window again, now looking more amused than disgusted. “Hey—if you think you can hold out, be my guest.”

 

“Ja.” He confirmed, glaring at the bed a little, annoyed. _‘If you think you can hold out…_ ’, Gott, who did this idiot think he was?

 

“But in the meantime, don’t think I won’t be around.”

 

He froze. No. No, no, no. His mind ticked through the possible scenarios that could allow him some time to wean himself off, to distance himself from his sins and start over. All of those scenarios involved Denmark being out of his life for a _very_ long time. Not to mention, the man’s not exactly known for secrecy. “No.” He says it bluntly, hoping he made his point.

 

“Why not?” The bastard asked, grinning wide as he saunters from his window ledge toward the bed, pants riding low on his hips and shirt still very much undone. “I mean, you made your decision, _ja_? You don’t mind if I stick around and see if you can see it through, right? And in the meantime, I think I’ll catch up with your little chickadee.”

 

His blood ran cold. Oh… He wanted to punch him in the face—throw him through the window. But he couldn’t. He had nothing but himself to blame for this. And the closer he got, the faster his heart thrummed in his ears. His hand touched the footboard and he did not look up as he growled the word. “ _Please_.”

 

A grin split those wicked features, turning him into the demon he always was. Berwald scowled. “I love it when you beg, Bernie Boy.” Matt sighed, surreptitiously dropping his hand over his on the footboard. “So how ‘bout I make you a deal?”

 

His eyebrow twitched upward and he looked toward Matt, trying to pull his hand away.

 

Matt caught it. Held it. Took it in a grip that was solid steel.

 

He spoke in a low, heavy tone, drenched in lust and torturous glee. It made Bernie’s heart thud against his ribcage. “One night. You, me, and your pretty little _wife_. I wanna be in your bed, Bernie, and I wanna fuck you both. One night.”

 

The words made Bernie’s throat constrict. Oh Christ… He curled his hands into a fist, clenching his teeth and growling low. “ _And_?”

 

“And I’ll leave you alone.”

 

He looked up, shocked, and found his glasses were smudged, leaving a cobweb of grease over Matt’s face. But his lips were set in a thin line, and his chin was hardened, and he looked… serious. Actually serious for once. He didn’t know what to make of it—at all.

 

“Alone?” He heard himself ask, stepping back a little.

 

“You heard me.” Matt sighed, looking toward the bed with something like pain. “I’ll leave you alone. Never darken your doorway again, except… you know. For medical purposes.”

 

The thought was ludicrous. Matt, leaving his conquest, his _Bernie Boy,_ alone? Completely? Never messing with him again? Never calling him again? Never coming over again? It was an impossible offer, and yet there it was on a silver platter. The king of Scandinavia never makes a deal he can’t keep. Why does he feel so sick knowing he can keep it?

 

“That’s what you want, right?” Matt asked, scrutinizing him with eyes that suddenly seemed too terribly smart to be his. “For me to disappear? Let you live happily ever after with that adorable little rabbit you’re keeping? Fine. Go ahead. One night, all of us, together, and I’ll be nothing but a sweet memory.”

 

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell him to go to hell, but nothing came out. Damn it. There was nothing he _could_ say. If this was anyone else, Berwald would’ve ripped them to shreds with his bare hands. But it was Matt. And for him, for them, this was a fair offer. Generous, even. Matt is the only other living thing that feels this… this _something_ between them. Even though they despise each other, even though they want each other dead… Matt has always had something over him. Something that made him resist less than he should.

 

He had no doubt in his mind that if Matt wanted to throw him down right now and shove his cock in his mouth again, he’d resist for all of one, maybe two, minutes.

 

He was saved from that fate, however, when the easy footsteps and rustling of shopping bags caught his attention. They both turned toward the door to see Tino carrying some new things for the bathroom—soap dishes and shower curtains and the like. Tino froze, whipping around as he caught sight of them both, surprised. “Oh—Matt? I—” He stepped back, shock and uncertainty taking over his face. “I didn’t know you were…”

 

“Yeah, I got caught in the storm. On my way home from Eddie’s.” Matt grinned, sauntering toward Tino in a stride that made the hair on the back of Berwald’s neck stand up. “Bern let me come in for a bit. Dry my clothes.”

 

“Oh, is…” A wary look shot through Tino’s eyes as he turned his head, peering down at the mess of sheets on the floor. “Are you staying?”

 

“Bern offered. You know, since it doesn’t seem to be letting up.”

 

“Sheets need cleanin’.” Bern sighed, gathering the bundle into his arms, pressing the wetness to his chest. “I’ll get more.”

 

He fled, cowardly as it was, to the laundry room. It took him three minutes to get there, as it was on the first floor and rather far down the hall, but he took extra time in the room anyway. He needed to get his bearings back. The proposition… it rang in his ears so loud he could barely think of anything else. He threw the sheets in the wash and leaned against the machine as it began to shake, closing his eyes and trying to work this out beyond the sex. If he broached this with Tino… Okay, he didn’t want to broach this with Tino. At all. But he _had_ to. The only way this… this _thing_ between he and Mattias was going to go away was if Mattias was not _around_. And the only way that was going to happen was if he got Tino to agree to this.

 

Frustrated, he pushed off the washing machine and went back upstairs. But when he reached the guest room, frustration was replaced by cold, heavy nausea.

 

Mattias was leaning close, touching Tino’s face. Whispering in his ear and making him blush a heavy red. Pressing his lips together, he hung in the doorway, torn between glaring and gaping. He’s not even sure whom he’s jealous of. He settles for clearing his throat.

 

Whipping around, Tino stepped back from the half-dressed nation, blushing even harder. “Um—this room has a bathroom attached, if you want to shower.”

 

“Yeah—get the chill out of my bones.” Matt grinned, tousling Tino’s hair lightly and moving past him toward the door. “If ya wanna come join me, we can make it a party.” He winked at Bernie, fingers slipping away from the shorter nation until finally they too disappeared into the bathroom.

 

“W’happened?” He asked softly after a moment, not sure what else to say or do. There are already a thousand lies on his tongue—lies meant to keep the truth away, to prolong the sickness as he searches for a cure. But he’s scared. Terrified, actually. Gripping the doorway in both hands, fists white with tension.

 

“He… made a pass at me. Kind of.” Tino blushed, looking down, his lashes dusting his raspberry cheeks. “Us.”

 

“… Us.” He stated, only somewhat questioning, since he already knew the answer. Matt was going to force it, wasn’t he? He knew his Bernie Boy had no idea how to get this party started, so he was giving him a rope to hang himself with.

 

“Yeah.” Tino muttered softly, wringing his fingers together, more than nervous. It was very strange to see Tino so rattled. “You and me. He said he wanted to… To see what we were like together. To get in on it or something. I don’t know… Isn’t that weird? I mean, after everything?” He pulled his arms in on himself, looking slightly defensive, but his cheeks were still red and his eyes… His eyes were glazed over.

 

Oh. God. They were actually going to…

 

Sighing softly, he raised a hand to his face, pressing his glasses back up his nose, not wanting to see his eyes. “Wanna?”

 

\--

 

_But, his dry hand touched_

_A petal with a light caress:_

_‘Tell me how they kiss you._

_Tell me how you kiss.’_

\--

 

“Ah-!”

 

The cry echoed everywhere, above every groan and grunt, and Bernie knew that Matt was inside his husband. He’d cried out that loud the first time. Matt was… impressive. And he knew exactly how to dominate a first stroke. In fact, he knew exactly how to dominate a lot of things.

 

“ _That’s_ it, baby.” Matt hissed, rocking into Tino like he barely fit, like he’s afraid to move too much. Jesus. It’s a beautiful sight, seeing Tino’s face open up with ecstasy, Matt’s jaw go slack with pleasure. He was sprawled out in front of them, touching himself, opening his own ass as he waited his turn. The whole room smelled like sex and sweat, and yet above it all he could smell Matt—smoke and salty liver pate and some sweet flower that he did not recognize. He could still feel his hands on his wrists, his body covering his. Tino watched them the first time. He’d barely opened his eyes until he came.

 

“Fuck—Fuck, _Bern-!_ ” Tino called his name, his eyes wide and stuck to his face as Matt took him from behind, ramming inside and slapping his hips into his skin hard enough to make the bed jerk. Not to mention Tino. He was _shaking_ , his hands gripping the sheets, sounding desperate as sin for the next taste. “Matt, _Please_!” He begged, pushing back, bowing his body low so that he could arch his ass high.

 

“Gott, Tino…” He heard himself whisper, watching as that heavy coil of lust began to tighten into need in his gut. His eyes slid up the slope of his wife’s back to where their bodies connected. The bounce and shudder of skin made him want to _slap_ Tino’s ass, _bite_ it, sink his teeth into that lush, fatty flesh and feel it between his teeth. Of course, it was Tino. So he couldn’t—never. No one but Mattie knew what he… craved, sometimes. But all that would soon be the past.

 

The hips that were slapping into Tino’s ass were exactly as they always were—fast and unrelenting, pushing deeper, demanding more. That was Matt all over. He shot a look up at his face again and found his mouth hanging open and his eyes closed, sweat dragging down his neck to his chest. He squeezed himself. Why did the man have to be fucking _stunning_ like this? Tino looked good, writhing and bucking back on that shank. But Matt… There were no words for how Matt looked, riding that beautiful ass. Except, perhaps… commanding. Fisting his cock, he leaned toward the two, reaching out to touch the bead of sweat that skimmed over Matt’s nipple.

 

That’s when things got worse.

 

Tino must’ve thought… Well, God only knows. But he reached out and took hold of his cock at the base, letting out a hoarse cry and then breathing in anew. Then the tight, wet heat of his mouth stole the tip, and Bernie couldn’t help the groan that escaped. Matt’s eyes fluttered open, and when they met Bernie’s they shot down, then slowly moved back up again and stuck.

 

“Shit, yeah. That’s right, baby. Suck that cock.” Matt groaned, his hands sliding up the small of Tino’s back as he continued to pump into his body. “Gott— _suck_ it, you cheap piece of ass-! You love cock, right, baby? So fuckin’ _take_ it!”

 

He held one hand at the small of Tino’s back and raised the other, bringing it down _hard_ on that ass.

 

Oh. Dear Gott. Bernie had _never_ even _thought_ of treating Tino like this. But he seemed to _love_ it, groaning and whining like he could barely stand it and sucking Bernie’s cock down his throat like he needed it to breathe.

 

It took a moment to realize his hand had moved without his permission, but when he looked down and found it in Tino’s hair, Bernie couldn’t help holding him down on his cock. Like he did with Matt, when he managed to bring the man to his knees.

 

His eyes shot back to Matt and he found him staring like he was seeing heaven. Without thinking, he leaned over his wife and found himself yanked into a near-feral kiss, built on teeth and tongue and need so great that he came, shooting down Tino’s throat with a barely consumed groan.

 

Matt did not stop kissing him until he came too.

 

\--

 

_And his eyes, dully gazing,_

_Never lifted from my ring._

_Not a single muscle shifting_

_Beneath that evil-glistening_

 

\--

 

In the month that followed that night, things seemed shallowly as they were.

 

There were parties, of course, and appointments, and house-calls, and teas. He and Tino kept themselves running around each other by day, so that by night they could collapse into bed and make lazy, simple love, barely cognizant though fully grateful. It was not how it once was—tender and easy and light. Bernie couldn’t stop thinking about the way Matt had handled Tino, exactly as it had always appeared in his darkest dreams. But that was all it was. A dream. A dream they needed to wake up from.

 

Six weeks after, he cancelled his appointments, came home, and threw Tino to their bed. They made love like they hadn’t in years, clinging to each other, begging and whispering things that had always been said, but not truly meant in a very long time. But it was not enough. Bernie’s body felt empty, hungry, and he knew what it was. He simply refused to think on it, prayed it would disappear. He wanted to be _happy_. He had _Tino_ and that was all he needed. If he focused on that, he would be okay. One day.

 

Two months after, he picked up sandwiches and brought them home for lunch, only to freeze as the door opened before he could find his key.

 

“I—Oh hey.”

 

Matt. In the flesh. His smile wide and full of secret mirth, as usual. But it was weary around the edges, and false in places, like he wasn’t sure whether he was happy or sad. But he looked good. So damn good, everything empty in his gut suddenly came alive and _twisted_.

 

“Just stopped to—”

 

“—Party.” Tino interrupted, pushing into the doorway, his hair mussed and his skin flushing. “I—Um, plan. The party. For Eddie and Raivis’ anniversary? I asked him to come. What’re you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a housecall at…”

 

Bernie stopped paying attention the minute the lies began. His eyes slid away and found the snow-covered hedges that would brim with roses in the spring. Right now, they were capped with white and…

 

And paper.

 

Joints.

 

He picked one up, tuning Tino out and staring at it. It was right on top. It was put there after the snow fell. Slowly, dreading what he’d see, he looked up at their house and almost—almost—smiled the most bitter, all-too-knowing smile.

 

There was a second floor window open just above the bushes.

 

He dropped the remains of the paper and handed the bag to Tino. “Enjoy.” He sighed, turning away. He had another housecall in an hour. He might as well give them the day. And perhaps the night as well.

 

Perhaps he’ll just never go home.

 

\--

 

_Oh, I understand: to know, passionately_

_And intensely, is his delight,_

_That there’s nothing that he needs,_

_And nothing I can deny._


End file.
